The Jackpot
by Kirayoshi
Summary: My sequel to Spider-Man 2. Spider-Man seems to have found his rhythm. Can he find the happiness he's earned at last? I wouldn't count on it. Chapter 4: Peter asks MJ the Big Question. Note ratings change. COMPLETE
1. A Scorpion's Tale

Disclaimers; Hey if I owned Spiderman, I'd be able to afford a much faster computer than the one I'm using! Marvel Comics owns the characters, J. Michael Straszynski, Paul Jenkins, Mark Millar and Brian Michael Bendis currently write the comics, Sam Raimi directs the movies, Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst play them, and I thank God for every one of the preceding names. Kudos all around!  
  
Rating: PG-13 for now.  
  
Author's notes: Spoilers abound for Spider-Man 2. If you haven't seen it yet...why are you sitting behind a computer! Log off, head out to your nearest theater, pony up the bucks and SEE THE MOVIE! It's da Bomb, baby!  
  
Oh, at the beginning of the story I have Spiderman trading blows with the Scorpion, a minor member of his comic-book rogues gallery. As a nod to Sam Raimi, I imagined him as resembling Bruce Campbell, who inevitably appears in Sam Raimi's projects; he is best known for playing Ash in 'The Evil Dead' and 'Army of Darkness', as well as Autolycos the King of Thieves in 'Xena; Warrior Princess'. He also played the fight announcer in Spiderman and a theatre usher in Spiderman 2. So consider Chapter 1 the obligatory Bruce Campbell cameo.  
  
Summary; Following his final battle with Doctor Octopus, Spider-Man seems to have found his rhythm. Can he find the happiness he's earned at last? I wouldn't count on it...

  
  
Spider-Man:  
The Goblin War  
Prologue:  
THE JACKPOT  
  
By Kirayoshi

  
  
Chapter one A Scorpion's Tale  
  
"High, higher than the sun,  
You shoot me from a gun,  
I need you to elevate me here   
At the corner of your lips  
As the orbit of your hips  
Eclipse  
You elevate my soul!  
  
I've got no self control,  
Been living like a mole now,  
Going down, excavation,  
  
I and I in the sky,  
You make me feel like I can fly  
So high,  
Elevation!"  
        --U2  
        "Elevation"  
  
_F. Scott Fitzgerald once wrote, "Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." A few years ago, I'd have agreed with him. After all, wasn't being Spider-Man the catalyst for the downward spiral that I like to call my early college years? For a while it seemed like I was losing everything because of that one spider-bite. My uncle Ben, my chance to graduate college, my pizza-delivery job, my friends, the love of my life...all because of my insistence on going it alone.  
  
It took me three years to finally figure it out; I can't give up being who I am, whether it's Spider-Man or Peter Parker. It's about balance. And I finally found my balance. For the first time since I was bitten by that genetically altered spider, I've started to feel comfortable in my own skin. It took me that long to learn that I can't do it alone. Thanks to Mary Jane, I realize now that I don't have to. And with the walls I so foolishly built between Mary Jane and myself finally knocked down, it seemed like she and I could finally make plans for a future.  
  
But like Aunt May always said, if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans...  
  


========

  
  
Another fun day in the Big Apple,_ Spider-Man grumbled to himself as he hefted the fallen SUV off of the terrified man who was pinned under the vehicle. His frame straining under the weight, he managed to flip the vehicle on its side. "Hey, mister," he asked the older man as he knelt beside him, "you okay?"  
  
"I..I think my leg's broken," he complained. "But I'll live."  
  
"We'll take care of you, sir," a paramedic who had rushed to the scene gently under his arms as he and his partner lifted him to a waiting gurney. "We appreciate the help, Spider-Man," the paramedic told the hero, "but we have things under control here now."  
  
"Good," Spider-Man answered. "I'll go deal with whoever threw this party." With a rapid bound and a deft flick of the wrist, he shot out a strand of webbing, the other end adhering high up on the side of the nearby building and propelled his lithe form toward the epicenter of the damage.  
  
It wasn't difficult for Spider-Man to spot his quarry. Blasts of superheated plasma erupted from the enormous smoldering hole in the side of the Chase Manhattan Bank building, as police officers cordoned off the street at either end and barricaded the area around the bank. Perching on the railing of a nearby fire-escape, he surreptitiously adhered his digital camera to the railing with his webbing. "Time to meet my adoring public," he chuckled to himself before he launched toward the altercation.  
  
Grim-faced officers knelt behind their vehicles, makeshift bunkers against whatever was attacking from within the sundered bank vault. The arachnid hero lightly perched on the nearest car, and caught the attention of two nearby cops; "Hey, officers, who's our playmate for this afternoon?"  
  
"GET DOWN!" One officer shouted as a metallic green shape emerged from the darkness inside the broken wall, and fired another blast of plasma. Spider-Man evaded the blast easily and landed in a crouched position behind the car. "Okay," he drawled, "someone must have missed the memo that said today was NYC's 'no high-tech energy weapons' day."  
  
"SPIDER-MAN!" a younger cop shouted, "you're under arrest! You have the right to—"  
  
"Put a sock in it, rookie," his older partner barked him down. "He's not the problem here!" Turning to Spider-Man the older cop added, "My name's Martinez. My wife was on the subway car that Doctor Octopus attacked a few months ago. You saved her, Spidey. You're okay in my book."  
  
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir," Spider-Man answered, genuinely pleased by the rare show of gratitude from a New York police officer. "So, what's the 411 on Slappy the Wonder Shmoe in there?"  
  
"He calls himself the Scorpion," Martinez growled irritably. "Some armored freak, like that Goblin guy three years back. Has some kind of cybernetic tail-like thing, with a built-in energy cannon. He bust into the bank from the outside, blew that hole in the wall. He also tossed cars around on his way here, using that tail like a battering ram."  
  
"Yeah, I saw some of his handiwork on the way in," Spider-Man answered. "Does he have any hostages?"  
  
"Can't determine that at this time," Martinez answered, "but I wouldn't be surprised if he does. He'll need a bargaining chip to get out of here."  
  
As Martinez and Spider-Man returned their attention to the bank, the criminal in question emerged from the gaping hole. The green armor he wore resembled an insect's carapace, with a seven foot long club-like tail jutting out of the lower back and looping around behind him. He held the tip of his tail firmly against the head of a young woman he had carried with him, roughly twisting her arm behind her. "Okay, girls," he shouted coarsely to the assembled police officers. "Before you get any ideas here, keep in mind that I'm in charge of this little scenario. Just do as I say and maybe you can all go home to your families for dinner! Now, I want one of you to stand up, hands where I can see them!"  
  
The officers glanced around at each other, and Martinez nodded. The Lieutenant holstered his piece and rose slowly, his hands raised above his head. "My name is Lieutenant Martinez," he announced calmly. "We just want to end this thing quickly. What are your demands? A helicopter? Some kind of transportation?"  
  
The Scorpion laughed harshly. "You got me wrong, pal. I'm not looking for money here, just my props."  
  
"You're holding a lady hostage on my beat," Martinez barked, "you can forget about props from me. So what is it that you want, scum?"  
  
Scorpion nodded. "I like that. You hate me, I hate you, and we can drop the pretense of civility. I can deal with that. What do I want? Well, the Cubs in the pennant race, but we both know that's out of your hands, so I won't bother asking. What I want is for Spider-Man to face me, right here, right now! I don't see Spider-Man in fifteen minutes," he finished, the tip of his tail pressing against his hostage's cheek, "I repaint the immediate area with her brains!"  
  
"I say we just hand the Webhead over," the younger cop whispered, only to be glared into submission by Martinez and the other officers.  
  
"Look, Scorpion," Martinez continued calmly, hoping not to anger the armored thug any further. "We can't just contact him right out of the blue. It's not like we have a Spider-signal or anything."  
  
"Well you'd better find a way," the Scorpion barked, "if you value the continued existence of this fine, upstanding New Yorker here."  
  
Spider-Man remained crouched behind the police car as he scanned the area around him. He noticed a window-washer's scaffold hanging from the side of the bank, a little to the right of the hole. "Okay, I have a cunning plan," he whispered to Martinez. "You guys hang back and don't let anyone near here. I'm gonna run interference." Martinez reluctantly nodded; it was Spider-Man's show now.  
  
"I'm waiting!" Scorpion bellowed, still holding his hostage securely in an iron grip. "Come on out, Spider! Let's settle it once and for all! Who's the baddest bug in New York?"  
  
"Actually, Skippy," a taunting voice chimed merrily, grabbing the Scorpion's attention, "that's a common misconception." The Scorpion turned and noticed the familiar red and blue garbed figure strolling toward him, his voice light, almost conversational. "Y'see, both spiders and scorpions are of the class 'Arachnida'. They're not insects at all. You can tell because, while all insects have six legs and three body segments, arachnids have eight legs and two body segments. But you knew that all along, didn't ya, bunky?"  
  
The Scorpion glared at the wall-crawling hero for five whole seconds before speaking; "Who are you supposed to be?"  
  
Spider-Man shrugged theatrically. "Wha, you don't read the Daily Bugle? Not that I blame you of course, no self-respecting fish would be wrapped in that rag! If you haven't figured it out yet, I'm Spider-Man. See—" He pointed to the spider-emblem on his chest; "Spider..." He then struck a pose, his fists resting on his hips, his legs spread apart; "Man!"  
  
The Scorpion growled angrily. "I'm through playing, buddy! Where's Spider- Man?"  
  
The masked vigilante turned to the cops. "Ain't that a fine how-do-ya-do? I go through all the trouble to create a recognizable symbol, and Skippy here still wants to card me! No respect, I tell ya!" Turning back to his opponent, he continued, "Look buddy, I really am Spider-Man, you're just gonna have to believe me on this."  
  
"You're too short to be Spider-Man," the Scorpion snorted, holding his hostage's arm a little tighter. "I'm gonna need more proof that you're the real deal."  
  
Spider-Man held his hands up in a resignation gesture. "If you insist..." he drawled, before whipping his right hand forward, his fore and little fingers extended. He immediately fired a glob of webbing into Scorpion's eyes, hard enough to knock him off balance. As his tail flailed wildly behind him, Spider-Man grabbed the hostage from his loosening grasp. "Quick," he shouted, "get to the cops, I'll take care of Scorpion!"  
  
Just as Martinez took the panicked young woman to safety, Spider-Man felt that familiar tingling sensation in the base of his skull, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. Time around him slowed to a crawl as he turned to face his attacker. The blunt rounded end of the Scorpion's tail arced toward him with a battering ram's force, intent on caving in his skull. With a neatly practiced backwards roll, Spider-Man easily evaded the metal bludgeon, tumbling backward and springing to his feet, five yards away from his opponent. "All right, Scorpy," Spider-Man intoned calmly but with and edge of steel in his voice, "let's samba."  
  
"Smooth moves, Superfly," the Scorpion grimaced as he tore the last of the sticky webbing off of his face nad lowered to a crouching position. "But you can't keep dodging me forever!" He reared the tip of his tail high above his head, firing off a volley of plasma bolts.  
  
Spider-Man easily tumbled away from the Scorpion's strafing shots, drawing his fire away from the police. "You need some target practice, Skippy," the hero quipped. "Maybe I could round up some broad sides of barns for you to aim at."  
  
"I won't have you make a fool of me, Spider-Man!" the Scorpion roared, his tail throwing more blasts of energy at his target.  
  
"No, I can't improve on nature," Spider-Man answered, leaping high over the Scorpion's head and landing on the window-washer's scaffold. "Whoa, I can see my house from here!"  
  
"Come down here, you wall-crawling freak!" Scorpion reared his tail forward, preparing to fire another blast at the arachnid hero.  
  
_Bingo,_ Spider-Man thought, _thank heaven for predictable criminals!_ "Oh, now that's just harsh," Spider-Man held his hands forward, launching a fine strong strand of webbing. The webline adhered to the tip of Scorpion's tail, wrapping the plasma-cannon in thick gossamer before Scorpion could fire another shot. "Y'know, Scorps," Spider-Man smiled under his mask, "this relationship isn't working out for us. I think we should see other people." Spider-Man grabbed the other end of the webline, threading it around the bars of the scaffold, then dove off the scaffold and onto the street. The webline stretched slightly as it grew taut, and then yanked the Scorpion by the tail, effectively pulling him off the ground, his arms, legs and tail flailing madly in useless swimming motions. Before the Scorpion could get his bearings, Spider-Man fired another steady stream of webs around his body, effectively cocooning him from his shoulders to his ankles. The Scorpion struggled, wriggling desperately in the confining sheath of silk, but the web filaments held strong. He didn't dare fire his plasma-cannon, as the end of his tail was pinned just behind his head.  
  
Spider-Man stopped for a second to admire his handiwork, and then turned to the police, who began to emerge from their barricade. "And so, ladies and jelly-spoons," Spider-Man saluted the officers with a theatrical bow, "that—and you should excuse the pun—is a wrap. Now, excuse me, 'cause I'm late for a very important date." He vaulted off the ground in a single leap, landing on the fire-escape where he quietly snagged his camera. "No time to say hello, goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!" Firing his webline to a nearby skyscraper, Spider-Man swung out of range of the cops, two or three of whom had begun to aim their pieces at him.  
  
"Put 'em away," Martinez chuckled, "you don't have a chance of catching him now. Besides, things would have gone a lot worse if he hadn't shown up." Without another word on the subject, Martinez withdrew a pocket-knife from his glove-compartment and ambled over to the trussed Scorpion, to sever the webbing and take him into custody.  
  


========

  
  
Police captain Jean DeWolffe, assistant D.A. Michael Greevey and court- appointed defense council Jennifer Walters gathered around the table, facing the handcuffed figure before them. Macdonald 'Mac' Gargan looked significantly less imposing in prison denims, without the Scorpion suit to back up his hollow threats. "My client has agreed to confess to the armed robbery charge," Jennifer started the proceedings, "but wishes to make a deal for the assault charge."  
  
Greevey nodded to DeWolffe, who opened a manila folder on the table in front of her. "We've been going over your files, Gargan," DeWolffe announced coldly. "This is your fourth arrest in fifteen years. Two armed robbery charges, three assault and at least one aggravated assault. Now you're charged with armed robbery and assault with intent to kill. And you're looking down the barrel of the third strike law. You're going away, Gargan. For how long, that's up to you."  
  
Gargan stared blankly at the police captain. "What do you want from my client?" Walters asked.  
  
"You were packing some pretty sophisticated ordinance," Greevey answered levelly. "And there's nothing in your record that indicates that you were able to cobble that suit of yours together without some serious tech support. If you give us the names of your weapons suppliers, I can make a sentencing recommendation."  
  
Gargan leaned toward Walters, whispering in her ear. She whispered back for a second, before Gargan returned his attention to Greevey and DeWolffe. "The man you're looking for is named Phineas Mason. He's known on the street as 'The Tinkerer'. You got a pen on you?" DeWolffe handed him a ball-point pen she had fished out of her pocket, and he scribbled something on a scrap of paper. "Now that's where I contacted him yesterday. He and this other guy..."  
  
Gargan continued to spin his implausible story, insisting that it was the truth. DeWolffe contacted Lieutenant Martinez to investigate. Half-an- hour later Martinez had verified most of the details in Gargan's testimony. DeWolffe ordered him to the offices of the Daily Bugle to make the arrest. 


	2. Dirty Laundry

Part two Dirty Laundry  
  
_"I make my living on the evening news,  
Just give me something, something I can use   
People love it when you lose,  
They love Dirty Laundry!  
  
I could have been an actor, but I wound up here,   
I just have to look good, I don't have to be clear.  
Come and whisper in my ear,   
Give me Dirty Laundry!  
  
Kick 'em when they're up!   
Kick 'em when they're down!   
Kick 'em when they're up!   
Kick 'em when they're down!  
  
Kick 'em when they're up!   
Kick 'em when they're down!   
Kick 'em where they sit!   
Kick 'em all around!"  
  
   --Don Henley  
   "Dirty Laundry"_  
  
Leo Goldman had lived in New York for all of his fifty-seven years. He had seen a lot of living in his days, the very best and the very worst in humanity, much of it from the vantage point of the hot-dog stand he had run near Sheep's Meadow in Central Park for the last three decades, and took most of it in stride.  
  
He smiled whenever he saw young lovers stroll down central park. He maintained a calm vigilance whenever roving gangs of matching jackets passed him by, youthful arrogance in their stride. He joined his fellow New Yorkers in prayer, mourning and outrage when the Towers fell. He wore his Dodgers hat and the title of 'New York Native' with equal pride. It's how he identified himself, a New Yorker. And on those infrequent occasions when he had the opportunity to witness true heroism in action, he would not let it go unacknowledged.  
  
"Hey, Leo," a familiar voice greeted him from directly above. "What did the Zen-Buddhist say to the hot-dog vendor?"  
  
Leo craned his head and saw Spider-Man hanging upside-down from a webline suspended between two stout branches of the tree where he kept his stand during the warm summer months, and grimaced as the hero recited the joke he had heard from half of his customers every day. "Make me one with everything," he answered, smiling. "You know how many times I hear that joke, Spidey?"  
  
"One hundred and fifty a week," the hero guessed. "What can I say, it's a city ordinance. New Yorkers are required by law to say it every time they pass a hot-dog stand."  
  
Leo's laughter was a generous, infectious thing. His bonhomie and good spirits were why Spider-Man frequented his stand more than most in the Manhattan area. Without even asking, he opened his steamer tray and pulled out a quarter-pound kosher frank, slapped it on a bun and slathered it with brown mustard, relish, ketchup and onions. "Here ya go, Spidey," he handed the resulting culinary masterpiece up to the waiting hero. "Enjoy."  
  
"Thanks, Leo," Spider-Man answered, "and here you go." He handed Leo a five dollar bill, which the vendor swatted aside like a mosquito. "What do I keep tellin' ya, Spidey? Your money's no good here! It's on the house!"  
  
"Thanks," Spider-Man answered reluctantly. "I just don't like taking charity."  
  
"What charity?" Leo laughed. "I was there on the bridge, y'know."  
  
"Yeah, I know," Spider-Man answered, somewhat hastily. He heard Leo tell this story to him time and again, how he stood on the Brooklyn Bridge three years ago and witnessed Spider-Man's efforts to rescue Mary Jane Watson and a gondola car full of innocent children from the mad whims of the Green Goblin. Peter Parker didn't like to think of how close he had come to losing the woman he loved, especially the sight of MJ nearly falling to her death still invaded his nightmares with alarming regularity. He didn't want to discuss that terrible night any further.  
  
"Well, I'll keep trying to pay you, Leo," Spider-Man insisted, as he lifted his mask up a little, exposing his mouth enough to eat his hot-dog. "It's my upbringing."  
  
"And I'll keep refusin' it, Spidey," Leo promised. "Way I see it, you do a lot for this city, and don't get enough credit. What with that ol' muckraker Jameson on your case and all. So if I can offer a free meal once in a while, it's the least I can do for a fellow New Yorker."  
  
Spider-Man chuckled back at Leo. "Thanks, friend." In six quick bites, he devoured the makeshift meal, and flashed a grateful smile. "Take care now, Leo."  
  
"You too, Spidey," he answered as the arachnid hero leaped out of the tree and back toward the concrete canyons of Manhattan. "You're all right. A bit meshuga, but all right."  
  
As his hot-dog digested, Spider-Man managed to find a quiet ledge two blocks away from the Daily Bugle building, and pulled his digital camera out of the waistband of his tights. As he scanned the digital monitor on the back of the camera, he imitated the voice of J. Jonah Jameson as he viewed the shots he had captured of his battle with the Scorpion; "Crap, crap, mega-crap, crap-a-doodle-doo, crap on a stick, crap-crap-bo-bap, banana-fana-fo-fap, fe-fi-mo-map, Cra-ap!" He chuckled ruefully as he glanced toward the pale gray edifice of the Daily Bugle Building. He wondered why he was planning to visit the Bugle that day anyway; Jameson had pretty much made it clear the last time he had the misfortune to encounter him that Peter Parker would no longer be welcome at the Daily Bugle. He still blamed Peter for Mary Jane bolting from her wedding to John Jameson, a mortal blow to the tabloid editor's ego. J. Jonah Jameson was known far and wide as a champion grudge holder.  
  
But still, he needed the money. His job as Curt Connors' teaching assistant would not start for another week, and he still had some utilities to pay. Tucking his camera in a safe place in his waistband, he swung out on a slender web, locating the ledge a block west of the Bugle where he had kept his street clothes in a web-pack. Ten minutes later, Peter Parker strolled toward the Bugle building, dreading the inevitable confrontation with Jameson.  
  
The red-and-blue flashing light atop the police car in front of the tabloid building was the first thing Peter noticed as he approached the Bugle. No sirens blaring, he thought, and just the one car, so at least I don't have to slip into my work clothes. As he neared the building, the lobby door flew open, and two police officers hauled a third person out of the building and into the waiting police car. Whoever was being arrested, he had a coat thrown over his head, so Peter wasn't able to identify him. He made a mental note to ask Betty Brant about the arrest?assuming Jameson didn't call security to toss him out of the building as soon as he recognized him.  
  
The city room of the Daily Bugle was pure chaos, even by the standards of most newspapers. Peter noticed Ben Urich shouting into his phone receiver, while Betty Brant was repeatedly putting callers on hold in rapid succession, the pencil in her hand riddled with tooth-marks. "Hey," Peter greeted Betty as he approached her desk. "Is Jameson busy?"  
  
"Oh he's busy all right," she answered, the irritation in her voice palpable. "He's downtown getting his picture taken." She then returned her attention to her phone, callers on hold lighting up the board like a Christmas tree.  
  
Before Peter could ask what Betty meant by that comment, an imposing black man with close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair charged out of Jameson's office. "Parker," he greeted Peter, his voice friendly but clipped, "tell me that you have shots of Spider-Man's battle with Scorpion."  
  
"Actually I do, Mr. Robertson," Peter shook his head in Robbie Robertson's sudden interest in his photos. "I was going to give Jameson first refusal, before taking them to the Globe."  
  
"My office, Peter," he ushered the confused college student through the office door. "Let me see them."  
  
As Robertson closed the office door behind him and pulled down the shades, separating himself and Peter from the rest of the newsroom, Peter asked him, "What's going on here anyway? On my way in here, I saw the police drag someone off in handcuffs, and now you're using Jameson's office. What's happening here? And where is J.J?"  
  
"J. Jonah Jameson," Robertson answered as he sat behind Jameson's desk, the tension of the last few hours draining from his form as he finally began to relax, "is currently enjoying the hospitality of the City of New York, at taxpayer's expense. In plainer language, Peter, he's been arrested."  
  
Peter tried to speak, but found his mouth only capable of hanging open in an artist's study of surprise. Robertson continued his explanation; "The Scorpion, that armored bank robber that Spider-Man collared today? Turns out that he's really Macdonald 'Mac' Gargan, a three-time loser who was facing the Three-strikes Law. So he gave the DA the name of his weapon's supplier, a two-bit arms inventor and dealer who calls himself the Tinkerer. Gargan also named J. Jonah Jameson, saying that Jameson hired him to lure Spider-Man into the open, and also financed the weaponry he used. Jameson has been charged with reckless endangerment and gross negligence."  
  
"Oh my God..." Peter whispered. "That was Jameson being dragged away? I know he was never the president of the Spider-Man Fan Club, but I can't believe he'd actually go this far!"  
  
"I don't know what he's thinking," Robertson answered, shaking his head. "Even if he beats the charges, the civil suits from those Gargan attacked, not to mention the bank, could be enough to give the Bugle a major headache for years to come. As a result, the Board of Directors has chosen to suspend him from his position as Editor in Chief indefinitely, without pay, pending the outcome of the charges against him. The upshot of this is that, for the foreseeable future, I am the acting EIC. And we still have an evening edition to put out." Nodding his head and turning to his computer, he concluded, "And unlike J. Jonah, I believe in paying my freelancers what they've earned, not the bare minimum I can get away with. And you're evidently the only shooter that even got near the scene, which brings me to my original question; how soon can I see your pictures?"  
  
"I haven't had the chance to upload them," Peter apologized, producing his digital camera. "If you have a camera port on the computer I can put them on your monitor right now."  
  
"Jameson has a few cables jammed in his desk drawer," Robertson opened the drawer in front of him and fished out a nest of cables. "He never could make heads or tails out of them, though."  
  
"Let me see," Peter leaned forward and picked through the maze of wires. "Hmm, I think this is the connector to the camera," he mused as he drew one cable away from the others. "Okay, let's just hope that the software's been installed..."  
  
Ten minutes of Peter futzing with the computer, and he was able to upload the shots from his camera. Robertson scanned each shot briefly, before settling on two in rapid succession. "Hmm...some of the shots seem a little rushed, and it looks like you maintained the same vantage point from all of them," he mused aloud.  
  
"Hey," Peter defended himself, "I wasn't gonna try and move in there for a better shot. My Aunt May didn't raise an idiot."  
  
"Understood," Robertson smiled at the young photographer. "But you still managed to get in much closer than any other shooter in town. Very ballsy. I like ballsy. And these two shots," he added, highlighting two of the two dozen shots Peter's camera had produced, "actually show some good composition. I especially like this one of Spider-Man, wrapping Scorpion's body in webbing. And since the Scorpion's rampage is connected to Jonah's arrest, that makes this front-page news. Okay, that'll be our page one shot. The headline should read something like, 'SPIDER-MAN NABS SCORPION, RESCUES HOSTAGE'. What do you think?"  
  
Peter glared in pure amazement at Robertson's suggestion. "Whatever happened to 'SPIDER-MENACE AND SCORPION BUST BANK WALL'?"  
  
"I told you, Peter," Robertson regarded Peter with a mentor-like amusement, "Jameson's not sitting in the editor's chair for the time being. And plenty of eyewitnesses from the police department testified that Spider-Man was clearly working to apprehend the perpetrator. No, I think I like my idea better."  
  
"If you say so, Mr. Robertson," Peter fought to keep the laughter from his voice; the idea of the Daily Bugle no longer breathing fire down Spider- Man's back, filled him with a lightheadedness he seldom experienced.  
  
"Please, Peter," Robertson answered, "call me Robbie." He scribbled a few lines on a tablet, ripped out the top form and handed it to Peter. "Just hand this voucher to Betty for your payment."  
  
"Thanks, Mr. Ro?uh, Robbie." Peter took the voucher in his hand and scanned the amount. He almost dropped the voucher to the floor as he read it. "Twenty-five hundred? That's more than four times what Jameson usually pays me! Thanks!"  
  
"You're worth it, Peter," Robbie nodded. "I just wish I could afford to keep you on salary. But with the pending civil suits this whole Scorpion debacle's going to raise, the Bugle's looking at some lean months."  
  
"Gotcha," Peter answered. "And since I'll be starting work as a teaching assistant for Doctor Connors soon, I'm not looking for full time work as a photog anyway."  
  
"Hey, congratulations, Peter," Robbie smiled broadly. "Always knew you had it in you. Hey, are you attending the genetic sciences symposium at Oscorp next month?"  
  
Peter stopped short, suddenly feeling a faint chill down his spine. "Maybe, Robbie," he admitted. "I know Dr. Connors will be attending, and he said me to join him for at least one day, but I don't know for sure if I can swing it."  
  
"Well, if you can wrangle an invitation, let me know," Robbie announced. "I'd like to do a photo-essay on the symposium, and since that sort of thing is your field, maybe you could even help with the writing."  
  
"I'll see," Peter answered. "But I don't know if I'll be welcome there. Harry Osborn?well, he and I were friends in high school, but we haven't been all that close lately."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," Robbie nodded in sympathy. "If you can make it, though, will you let me know?"  
  
"Will do, Robbie," Peter answered. "And thanks again."  
  
Leaving the Daily Bugle two and a half grand richer, Peter Parker considered Robbie Robertson's offer; the money for shooting the symposium would certainly help with his Aunt May's rent, and Curt Connors would welcome positive press regarding his pet project, but if Harry Osborn was hosting the symposium, Peter doubted he would be welcome. _Considering that Harry knows I'm Spider-Man and still blames me for his father's death. If he ever finds out that his father was the Green Goblin_-? Peter shook his head vigorously, deliberately shaking the unpleasant thought.  
  
But the terrible notion remained with Peter even when he switched to his Spider-Man costume and swung his way back to his apartment. And with it a fear that, should Harry learn the truth, no one would be safe. Not Peter, not Aunt May, not MJ.  
  
Not for the first time, Peter prayed silently that he would be able to protect MJ. And not for the first time he feared that he would fail her.  
  


========

  
  
Author's note; Thanks for all the feedback, gang. It's been a while since I posted anything over at ff.net(most of my previous stories were Buffy/Willow pieces) but I was inspired to write this one.  
  
Oh, and DiabloDude1, to my knowledge not everyone called him the Terrible Tinkerer. Kind of the way not everyone calls him The Amazing Spider-Man. In the old Official Handbook he was referred to simply as the Tinkerer.  
  
Hope you enjoy the next chapter. I know I'm looking forward to writing it; I finally have my big Peter/MJ scene! 


	3. Just an Ordinary Boy

  
Author's notes: Again, I want to thank everyone who sent me feedback. I've received more feedback alerts on this story than on any story I posted at before. Of course mose of my stories before now have been Buffy/Willow BtVS pieces with a little Spike-bashing thrown in for good measure(I love Spike, I just hate the idea of Spuffy), maybe it's just a subject matter thing. My plan was for Chapter three to wrap the story up, but it turned out to be longer than the rest of the first two chatpers combined, so I cut it to two, and should post Chapter four in a day or two. After this prologue, I plan to launch into a major story called 'The Goblin War'. Ten points if you can guess the villain.  
  
Chapter three   
Just an Ordinary Boy  
  
_"Just a day, just an ordinary day.   
Just tryin to get by.   
Just a boy, just an ordinary boy.   
But he was looking to the sky.  
  
And as he asked if I would come along   
I started to realize-   
That everyday he finds Just what he's looking for,   
Like a shooting star he shines.  
  
He said, take my hand,   
Live while you can,   
Don't you see your dreams right   
In the palm of your hand?"  
        --Vanessa Carlton  
        "Ordinary Day"  
  
_The sun was beginning to set behind the Manhattan skyline as Spider-Man finally made his way to his apartment, and he couldn't be more relieved. After his encounter with the Scorpion as Spider-Man (and waiting through a long line at an ATM as Peter Parker to deposit his check for the pictures), all he wanted to do was relax for the rest of the evening. Maybe pop a frozen dinner in the microwave, watch the evening news for more information on the decline and fall of J. Jonah Jameson, and then turn in for the night. _A noble plan,_ Peter thought, _assuming no major crimes occur tonight._  
  
He dropped the makeshift web-backpack that carried his clothing and the evening edition of the Daily Bugle, letting them land on his bed, and then lowered his body through the skylight by two web-strands, one in each hand. His apartment might not have been the Taj Mahal, but he was grateful for the bedroom skylight. The skylight made it much easier for him to enter his apartment at night in his costumed identity, without dealing with any unexpected run-ins with neighbors or the landlord. The high ceiling in the bedroom below the skylight also made for a perfect gym.  
  
He lowered himself down by the web-strands, until his body floated three feet above his bed. He held his body taut in a perfect handstand and inhaled briefly. "And it all comes down to this final maneuver," Peter whispered. "For the last two days, Peter Parker has wowed the audience here in Athens with his incredible display of gymnastic skill, until that unfortunate slip on the uneven parallel bars last night. Now it's all or nothing. He needs to nail the triple somersault dismount from the rings to guarantee a gold medal for the United States."  
  
He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and began to swing his body downward. With increased momentum he flipped his body forward, arcing into a perfect circle, two circles, three, before releasing his grasp on the weblines. He folded his legs to his chest and let his momentum propel his body into three perfect somersaults, before extending his legs again, his feet landing squarely on the floor in front of his bed. He threw his arms over his head in triumph, his head leaning back proudly. "And he sticks the landing! Peter Parker pulls off the performance of his life! The gold is his, and the crowd goes wild! YEEAHH! YEEAHH!" He turned around, bowing theatrically to the bed and to his window, before turning to his bedroom door...  
  
Only to see a familiar silhouette standing in the door-frame, light from the living room lamp haloing her flowing russet hair, lending it a golden light. She turned on the bedroom light, revealing the pale pink sweater and low-riding faded blue Capri pants she was wearing. She flashed Peter an amused smile, said, "Way to go, Tiger," and began to applaud Peter's acrobatic performance, causing the young man to blush furiously under his mask.  
  
"MJ," Peter gasped slightly, as he slid his fingers under the hem of his mask and slowly pulled the Spandex off of his head and tossed it onto the floor. "Uh, not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? Oh no, we had a date tonight, right? We had a date, and I forgot, and I am so monumentally sorry--"  
  
"Our date isn't until tomorrow night, Peter," Mary Jane teased her flustered boyfriend, strolling seductively toward him, a coquettish grin lighting her face. "I just wanted to surprise you."  
  
"You're doing a good job so far," Peter admitted as she wrapped her arms around his neck.  
  
"Do you want me to stop?" she purred coyly as her face moved closer to his.  
  
"Not particularly, no," he stammered as she pulled him in for a generous kiss. After a half-second of shock, Peter found himself returning the kiss, his arms wrapping themselves around Mary Jane's waist. Their kiss was calm, sweet and unhurried, not the prelude to passion, but more than a simple greeting. For the first time that day, Peter felt truly comfortable as his mouth rested gently against Mary Jane's, a feeling that she understood perfectly. There was simply no where else in the world that either one of them wanted to be at that moment.  
  
Inevitably, the need for oxygen forced them to reluctantly break off the kiss, and Mary Jane nestled her head into the crook of Peter's shoulder. "I heard on the radio about Spider-Man fighting this Scorpion guy. I had to be here. And you did give me the key to your apartment we started dating, so I thought..."  
  
Peter could hear the tension, the worry, in Mary Jane's voice. He fought back the urge to curse himself for letting her worry without contacting her. That's it, he mentally noted, I have GOT to find a way to carry a cellular in my costume. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you right away," Peter spoke softly, his right hand gently running through her red hair. "I was over at the Bugle, selling the photos."  
  
Mary Jane harrumphed suddenly, releasing her arms from Peter's neck and moving away slowly. "Let's not spoil this moment by bringing up ol' J. Jonah Jingleheimer Schmidt, huh?"  
  
"Something wrong, MJ?" Peter asked quickly. He could see the muscles in her neck bunch up, as unspoken tensions mounted within her. She turned away for a moment, as Peter reached out to gently caress the nape of her neck. Mary Jane responded by slowly falling back into Peter's embrace, relishing the feel of his firm chest against her back. She absently reached up with her left hand and began to trace the web patterns on Peter's costume.  
  
"Well," Mary Jane said reluctantly, not wanting her dark mood to destroy their time together, "it's a good thing I was able to get that job at the Greenwich Village Schlotsky's a few months ago. I found out why I hadn't been getting any stage work since I got canned from 'Ernest'."  
  
"Oh?" Peter commented briefly. "Why's that?" He had wondered about her recent run of misfortune for some time; the day after she cancelled her wedding to John Jameson, she received a telephone call from her director, informing her that she had been let go from the cast of 'The Importance of Being Ernest'. She had attended several auditions and endless 'cattle calls' since then, without so much as a spot in the chorus. He had also noticed that a new model's face had appeared on all the 'Emma Rose' billboards in New York about that time.  
  
"Two words and an initial," Mary Jane groused wearily. "J. Jonah Jameson. I ran into Sergey during my lunch break today; he's one of the make-up crew from 'Ernest'."  
  
"Should I be jealous?" Peter teased, hoping to lighten Mary Jane's mood.  
  
She smiled slightly at her boyfriend; "I don't think I'm his type," she assured him. "You might be, though."  
  
"Sorry," Peter backed out of that line of conversation quickly. "You'll have to tell Sergey I'm spoken for."  
  
"Damn straight," Mary Jane chuckled. "Anyway, he told me why I've been summarily ignored by every producer in town. Seems ol' Triple J was less than thrilled by my decision not to marry his son, and he managed to use his leverage as a newspaper publisher against me. He threatened several producers with bad reviews sight unseen, or swore to suspend publishing ads for new plays, that sort of thing, unless they blacklisted me. He also must have pressured Emma Rose into canceling my contract with them."  
  
Peter stopped stroking Mary Jane's neck, his body tensing in anger. "That son-of-a..." he whispered, half to himself. Mary Jane could feel Peter's body shaking slightly, and was afraid that her news had made him angry, before she heard his chuckling laughter in her ears. She turned in his arms and faced him, her brows knitted in confusion. "What's the joke, Peter?"  
  
Peter was now laughing earnestly as he pulled away from Mary Jane and picked up his discarded web-bundle from his bed. Ripping the bundle open, he spilled his street clothes and newspaper onto the bed, and picked up the newspaper. "Check this out, MJ," Peter handed her the paper, showing her the front page. "You're gonna love this."  
  
Mary Jane scanned the front page intently, wondering what had Peter so amused. The main picture (_one of Peter's,_ she realized with a sense of pride) bore the headline; 'SPIDER-MAN NABS SCORPION, RESCUES HOSTAGE' and showed Spider-Man standing next to the Scorpion, who was hanging from the scaffold, wrapped in webbing and looking like a dirty piñata. She read down the page, her eyes resting on the side-bar beneath the photo of Spider- Man next to the helpless Scorpion; 'Bugle Editor Arrested for Endangerment'. The article, bylined by Ned Leeds, stated that Daily Bugle editor J. Jonah Jameson was formally charged that afternoon with reckless endangerment and depraved indifference to human life, for allegedly financing the weaponry used by the Scorpion in his attempted robbery. The District Attorney stated his belief that "the defendant, with the assistance of inventor Phineas Mason, created the threat of the Scorpion in order to lure Spider-Man into the open, and was indifferent to the lives that were harmed by the Scorpion's attack."  
  
Mary Jane's eyes lit up in surprise, her fists clutching the paper hard as she read further. "I don't believe it..." she gasped as she finished the article. "How could he do something like that? That bastard tried to make a new Green Goblin, or Doctor Octopus? I hope they throw the book at his ass!"  
  
"Hey, it's okay, honey," Peter tried to sooth his agitated girlfriend.  
  
"It's NOT okay," Mary Jane growled vehemently. "How dare he do this? Bad enough he tries to screw my career, I can handle that. But this...he's endangering people's lives! He tried to have you killed! Damn, and that man was this close to being my father-in-law..."  
  
"MJ," Peter placed his hand over her lips, as his warm eyes and comforting smile effectively silenced her tirade. "First, the Scorpion was hardly in the same league as Goblin or Doc Ock. I didn't even have to punch him once! He may have done some structural damage, but the police and I were able to take him down easily, and no one got hurt worse than a broken leg. Second, Jameson isn't the Editor in Chief at the Bugle anymore. Robbie Robertson told me that the board of directors had suspended him pending the investigation into this whole Scorpion mess. Robbie's in charge now and he's a straight arrow. Jameson may dodge a conviction when this is over, or plead it out for a suspended sentence, but right now, he's in a world of trouble. And he brought it all down on himself."  
  
MJ harrumphed prettily (at least Peter thought she was pretty), then snuggled back into Peter's arms. "You think they strip-searched him?" she asked innocently  
  
"Probably gave him the whole body cavity search," Peter said, smirking at the thought.  
  
MJ suddenly flashed Peter an elfin grin. "You think they'll find his head?" Mary Jane began to giggle, her body shaking against his most pleasantly. Peter found himself chuckling with her, a quiet cleansing laughter that seemed to lighten her dark mood.  
  
"I guess you're right," she murmured as their laughter subsided. "It just galls me, is all. I mean, you've done so much for New York, and that S.O.B. gets to walk all over you."  
  
"I know," Peter whispered, kissing the top of Mary Jane's head. "But I don't put this suit on for the JJJs of the world."  
  
MJ glanced up at Peter, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Why do you, then?"  
  
Peter met her eyes with a gentle smile. "For the Mary Janes, who else?"  
  
Mary Jane shook her head, laughing and crying at the same time. "You're nuts, you know that?"  
  
"Only about you, MJ," Peter wiggled his eyebrows in a vague approximation of Grouch Marx. MJ laughed again as she lifted her head and closed her eyes, her lips meeting Peter's.  
  
Before their kiss could intensify, a sharp beeping noise emerged from the kitchen. "What's that," Peter asked as Mary Jane disengaged the hug.  
  
"That would be the lasagna," she announced happily as she rushed out of the room. "Oh, I did a grocery run before I got here," she called out from the kitchen. "Good thing I did; all you had were ten packs of ramen noodles, some frozen dinners, a jar in the fridge containing a single pickle and something in the produce drawer that I'm guessing used to be lettuce, but is now penicillin. Typical bachelor."  
  
"Hey, I resemble that remark," Peter called out from the bedroom as he tugged at his costume tunic.  
  
"Did I lie?" MJ quipped as she shut off the timer and located some oven mitts. "Hey Tiger, once you get into your civvies, you want to fix a salad? I picked some romaine, a cucumber, and some Italian dressing on my way over."  
  
Peter padded out of his bedroom in his blue tights, an Old Navy flag t- shirt and bare feet, stopping short of the kitchen as the aroma of garlic, sweet basil and parmesan hit his nose. "Smells good, MJ," he smiled hungrily. "And you did that yourself?"  
  
"I got here a couple of hours ago," MJ announced happily as she pulled the lasagna out of the oven, "and your aunt May asked me to make sure you were eating right last time I spoke to her."  
  
"I just can't believe you did all this," Peter breathed.  
  
"Wha, you think I live on Chinese take out and restaurant dinners?" Mary Jane smirked. "It costs less for me to do my own cooking. I mean, I'm not Emeril but I do know my way around a kitchen. And lasagna isn't the toughest thing in the world to make."  
  
Peter regarded Mary Jane with a newfound sense of awe. "Beauty, talent, and she cooks too," he announced dreamily.  
  
Mary Jane winked at him. "Face it, Tiger," she purred, closing the oven door, "you just hit the jackpot."  
  
Peter joined her in the mini-kitchen area, and knelt down to open a lower cabinet. "Okay, I think I have a large enough bowl for salad down here somewhere..."  
  


======== 

  
  
John Jameson sat sullenly in the barstool, glancing over at the hi- resolution screen that dominated most of the back wall at O'Flaherty's. The pretty young news anchor had just announced that his father was being held on a hundred thousand dollars bail. "Way to go, Dad," he grumbled, raising his glass to the screen.  
  
He had come to the bar with the sole intention of getting drunk. Which was proving difficult, as he wound up nursing a single half-empty glass of pale ale, unable to bring himself to finish it. Ruefully he found his thoughts drifting to Mary Jane Watson. _Should have been Mary Jane Jameson,_ he mused, before tossing that thought out. He realized that he would have to come to terms with the fact that she was never in love with him. _Parker,_ he raised his glass again, _you'd better be taking good care of her._  
  
John was somewhat amused to note that his father had taken MJ's rejection harder than he had. As though her decision to leave him was a personal blow against the newspaper editor. J. Jonah was hardly the easiest man in the world to like, but at least he was honest. Or at least that's what John had thought. Now, the evidence would seem to point otherwise. If he had really helped create this 'Scorpion' in order to trump up the news, to sell papers...he drained the last of his ale in disgust, and motioned for the bartender for another round.  
  
"Mr. Jameson?" a clipped, faintly British-accented voice announced.  
  
"Who wants to know?" John barked tersely as he spun in his barstool to face the speaker. The gentleman standing behind him was about half a head shorter than John; about as tall as Parker, he thought. His red-brown hair was receeding slightly, and his nose stuck out like a beak over a flat lipless line of a mouth. His sharp green eyes, however, somehow transformed his bland face, making him seem more commanding.  
  
"My apologies for intruding, sir," the short man announced in what seemed like a forced politeness. "I was informed by friends of yours that you frequent this establishment, and wished to discuss a business proposition. My name is Roderick Kingsley."  
  
"How nice for you," John nodded noncommittally and returned to his fresh ale. "Would you care for a drink?"  
  
"Nothing for me, thanks," Kinsley answered. "Mr. Jameson, like most of New York, I am aware of your career with NASA. You are one of a very select handful of people who have actually walked on the surface of the moon. However, sadly, the Shuttle projects haven't exactly made much progress out of Earth's orbit, have they?"  
  
"Well, it's still the only game in town," John said sullenly as he took a swallow of ale.  
  
"Not anymore," Kingsley argued as he handed a linen-white business card to the young astronaut. "I represent Oscorp Industries, and we are currently recruiting for a new project, one that Mr. Harold Osborn is very excited about." He took the stool next to John's and fixed his sharp green eyes on him. "How would you like to really get away from it all?"  
  
John considered Kingsley's words for a moment. "I'm listening," he nodded.  
  



	4. All I have To Give

_Author's Note; Well, here it is, the final chapter. For now. ::William Dafoe voice:: BWAHAHAHAHAHA!  
  
Much of this chapter was inspired by OldPrydeFan's 'Paper Flowers', which you can read over in 'Comics/X-Men', and I heartily recommend to any X-fans out there. To her, I humbly dedicate this effort on my part.   
  
Oh, and due to Peter and MJ getting a little frisky here, I opted to change the rating to 'R'. Just to play it safe with the mods. Enjoy._  
  
Chapter four All I Have to Give  
  
_"I guess that I'm just falling   
Deeper into something I've never known   
But the way I'm feeling   
Makes me realize it can't be wrong   
  
Your love's like a summer rain   
Washing my doubts away  
  
Seven days and seven nights of thunder   
The water's rising and I'm slipping under   
I think I fell in love with the eighth world wonder  
        --Kimberly Locke  
        "Eighth World Wonder"_  
  
"MJ," Peter announced after devouring a second helping, "my compliments. Best lasagna I ever tasted."  
  
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Tiger," Mary Jane smiled warmly. "But save some for leftovers. Unless those tights stretch."  
  
"There's still half a pan left," Peter defended himself. "Besides, defending the city from the forces of evil's a great way to burn off the calories."  
  
"I'll bet," Mary Jane stood up from the table and began to pick up the dirty plates, before Peter stopped her. "Hey, you made the dinner; I'll take care of the dishes."  
  
"If you insist," Mary Jane acquiesced without argument. "I'll go turn on the TV, see if there's anything interesting on. You just put the dishes in the sink and let them soak, then join me on the couch."  
  
"I am so loving that plan," Peter smiled mischievously, causing Mary Jane to blush slightly. "I can't afford cable, but I do have a fairly decent collection of videos if you'd like."  
  
Mary Jane located a small shelf loaded with VHS and DVD packs. "Let's see," MJ muttered to herself, "something romantic without being sappy or depressing, maybe a little humor..." One particular title stood out from the rack, and MJ grinned hugely. "Peter," she called to the kitchen, "How about 'The Princess Bride'?"  
  
"Madam has exquisite taste," Peter answered in an outrageous parody of a French accent. "Go ahead and start it, I'll zap a bag of popcorn."  
  
MJ slipped the tape into the VCR, turned on the set and made herself comfortable on the second-hand sofa that constituted most of the furniture in Peter's living room. That, a couple of folding chairs, a few bookcases jammed to overflowing with science texts, reference books and a few science- fiction novels, and of course the TV and video rack pretty much made up the living room. But she also noticed a few homey touches; the bright-colored afghan that must have been hand-crocheted by his Aunt May, some framed movie posters on the walls, and a collection of photographs on top of the TV attested to Peter's efforts to make a home for himself.  
  
MJ smiled sadly when she glanced at the one photo in the center, of a younger Peter with his black-framed glasses (Must have been before he got bitten by that spider, MJ realized), eating an ice-cream cone with his Uncle Ben. She was also pleased to see a photo of her next to the shot of Uncle Ben; she remembered when Peter snapped that picture of her during their first official date after she broke off her engagement to John. Peter had spent more money than he could comfortably afford for two day passes for Coney Island, the Brooklyn amusement park where Uncle Ben and Aunt May had taken him as a child every summer. And MJ, despite her initial reluctance at what she thought would be a corny date, would later count that day as one of the best days of her life. She screamed like a banshee along the entire length of the Cyclone, laughed like a child on the carousel, stood amazed at the sideshow performances, and felt her heart leap as she and Peter strolled along the pier overlooking the Atlantic, her hand pressed gently into his. The photo on the TV was one that Peter had taken of her that afternoon, showing her in a simply white tank top and blue jeans, her body comfortably leaning against a railing, her face peering just past the camera, her smile wide and open with just a hint of seduction, her hair flowing slightly in the ocean breeze and tinged by the setting sun. It was one of the few photos of her that she truly liked. Peter had captured her essence in one single image, with none of the artifice of her professional modeling shoots. This was her, the real Mary Jane Watson. The woman who could only reveal herself, her heart and soul to one man, the man she truly loved.  
  
Fred Savage had just complained about his grandfather's habit of pinching his cheek, so MJ relaxed and concentrated on the screen. Her head leaned back as she enjoyed her favorite romantic comedy. By the time Peter had returned to her with a bowl of popcorn in his hand, Vizzini and his cohorts had just kidnapped Buttercup. Peter leered slightly as he noticed MJ's head leaning back, before slipping behind the sofa and bending his face towards hers. MJ looked up and saw Peter's face upside-down over her own. Smiling wickedly, MJ lifted her head up, took Peter's face in her hands, and caught his mouth with her own in a slightly awkward but enjoyable kiss. The pleasure she experienced at this closeness was heightened by the memory it summoned, of that night two and a half years ago, when Spider-Man rescued her from muggers, and she rewarded her hero with a passionate kiss while he hung upside-down from his webbing. Her heart had been in turmoil ever since, between her love for Peter Parker and the sense of being drawn to Spider-Man. When she finally discovered six months ago that they were one and the same, the revelation came like an epiphany; so many scattered puzzle pieces suddenly coalescing into a grand and beautiful whole.  
  
When Peter lifted his head away from MJ's, he smiled down at her and said, "Hello, honey."  
  
"Hey, Tiger," she replied dreamily. "Why don't you join me?"  
  
"As you wish," Peter answered happily as he jumped casually over the sofa and bounced on the cushion next to Mary Jane, without spilling a single kernel of popcorn. The redhead instinctively leaned her body against Peter's, her hand automatically linking with his as they cuddled and enjoyed the movie.  
  
Mary Jane's face suddenly registered a surprised expression, and Peter took notice. "Something wrong, MJ?"  
  
"I never noticed this before," she whispered as her fingers caressed his palm. "Your hands, they have these little hairs on the palms."  
  
"Oh, those," Peter nodded, slightly embarrassed. "It's part of the whole Spider-Man package. I got 'em on my feet too. When I relax they almost disappear, you have to touch the hand to be aware that they're there. But when I concentrate, they extend and stiffen into thousands of little hooks, to the point where they hold me up when I climb walls." He glanced at Mary Jane, trying to gage her reaction. "Uh, this doesn't freak you out or anything, does it?"  
  
"No, no," MJ responded immediately. "Actually I like it. Your hands feel soft. Almost downy." She went back to stroking his palm with her fingers, eliciting comfortable sighs from her boyfriend. She ultimately was content to simply hold her hand, as she and Peter shared popcorn and watched as Westley rescued his beloved Buttercup from the machinations of the evil Prince Humperdink.  
  
As the closing credits began to roll, Peter turned the TV off with the remote while Mary Jane snuggled closer into Peter's shoulder, purring contendedly. "You really like that movie, huh?" Peter quipped.  
  
"Are you kiddin'?" Mary Jane answered, patting Peter's hand. "The girl's about to marry the wrong guy, only to be swept off her feet by a masked man who turns out to be her true love? What's not to like?"  
  
Peter shook his head in amusement. "That does sound familiar, doesn't it?"  
  
Mary Jane nodded, bringing Peter's hand to her lips and placing a soft kiss in the palm. "I don't regret anything, Peter. I don't regret not marrying John, and I will never regret being with you."  
  
Peter lowered his eyes, his mood sobering. "Even if being with me makes you the target of every psycho with some tech and a gimmick?"  
  
"Peter, don't you dare," Mary Jane scolded him gently. "Don't start with the self-pity party now. You are not responsible for what the Goblin or Doc Ock tried to do to me. And before you tell me about the risks involved in being your girlfriend, I know. I know your life can get pretty crazy, and I know I'm probably gonna be in the line of fire, but I'm not running away."  
  
"I wasn't suggesting that you should, MJ," Peter said. "Believe me, having you here, knowing that you love me as much as I love you, it's Heaven on a Kaiser roll! It's just that there's a nagging little part of me in the back of my mind that's waiting for the other shoe to fall."  
  
"It's okay, Tiger," MJ's sweet voice consoled Peter. "That other shoe can wait, as far as I'm concerned. What matters is now, and the two of us."  
  
Peter nodded slowly. "You're right, MJ. I just wish I could promise you that it'll get easier."  
  
"I know," Mary Jane smiled sweetly. "And God knows I'll always worry when you're out there. I guess it's like being in love with a cop or a fire- fighter, y'know? Someone who's always 'on call'?"  
  
"That's one way of looking at it, I guess," Peter agreed. "Doesn't make it easier though, does it?"  
  
Mary Jane turned her attention to the now-blank TV screen. "About two weeks after John and I publicly announced our engagement," she started carefully, knowing that Peter still harbored sad memories of that night, "I had an appointment with a NASA councilor, who handed me a pamphlet called, 'Guide for Spouses and Family of NASA Personnel". Or, as he called it, 'Oh My God, I Married an Astronaut!' Anyway, one of the main points the councilor made was that traveling in space is a difficult and dangerous task, and that any space mission that John were to take could be his last." She returned her gaze to Peter, who was amazed at the love and complete acceptance he saw in her eyes. "I was prepared to go through that for him. Why wouldn't I be ready to accept the dangers of being with the guy I'm actually in love with?" She reached out to cup Peter's cheek with her hand. "You take care of New York, Tiger. I'll take care of you."  
  
Peter, moved by MJ's open and genuine show of acceptance, took her face in his hands, and leaned in for another kiss, simply reveling in the sweet softness of MJ's lips. After breaking off the kiss, Peter regarded MJ with a faintly pondering expression, as though some great secret was being revealed to him, a great truth. "Uh," he started as he disengaged from their embrace and lifted himself off of the couch, "just hold that thought, MJ. Be right back." He rushed into the bedroom and disappeared for a few seconds, leaving MJ to wonder what was so urgent. She didn't hear any police sirens, no cries of distress from outside of the apartment. Could it have been this 'spider sense' he had told her about, that danger sense he seemed to have?  
  
Peter emerged from the bedroom, smiling nervously, his hands clasped behind his back. "Peter," Mary Jane started to get up from the sofa, "are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine, MJ," Peter assured her, "but please, don't get up just yet, just sit there for a second." Mary Jane sat down again, as Peter approached her slowly, almost hesitantly. "Man," he started, "I had this scene played out so many times, but it didn't quite look like this. Somehow I always imagined it happening in a four-star restaurant, or the beach at Coney Island, somewhere, well, somewhere that wasn't here. But after what you said to me, it just feels right to do this now. So bear with me while I get this out."  
  
"Peter," Mary Jane laughed expectantly, "what are you talking about?"  
  
Peter didn't answer her question right away, but instead he dropped to a crouched position, his left knee on the floor, his right leg bent forward as he brought his right hand out from behind his back.  
  
Mary Jane's eyes were alight in comprehension as she saw the small black velvet box in his hand. _Oh my God,_ she thought giddily, _he's gonna do it! _She now understood why he seemed so nervous; she suddenly felt a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. But her fear was easily fought down by the sense of joy she was experiencing, as the moment she had dreamed of for three years was finally happening.  
  
Peter took Mary Jane's hand in his and coughed briefly to clear his throat before he launched into his speech; "Mary Jane, I know that my life isn't easy. I can't promise you that it'll ever get easier. And as much as I wish I could, I can't promise that no one will ever try to hurt you again. But I can and do promise that, every day of my life, I will do everything that I can do to keep you safe and make you happy." He opened the velvet box, revealing a half-carat diamond solitaire ring, which he presented to Mary Jane with a slight flourish. "Mary Jane Watson," he started, desperately keeping the tremors in his voice at bay, "will you marry me?"  
  
Without a second's hesitation, Mary Jane leapt off of the sofa and into Peter's arms, embracing him fiercely and raining kisses on his lips, his cheeks and his eyelids. The attack so caught Peter by surprise, even with his 'spider sense', that the entwined young lovers ended up falling sideways on the floor, Peter scrambling to prevent the ring box from being knocked out of his hand. Uncaring, the two lovers rolled on the floor, laughing joyously, kissing and touching. Finally, they stopped rolling, with Mary Jane landing on top of Peter, and the two lay still long enough for MJ to whisper happily, "In case you were wondering, that means 'yes'. I will marry you, Peter Parker!"  
  
Peter exhaled the breath he wasn't aware he was holding as he stood up, with MJ still in his arms. They sat back down on the sofa, and he took the ring out of the box and placed it reverently on MJ's left hand. Mary Jane sighed in awe as she admired the diamond on her finger. "It's beautiful, Peter," she breathed, tears of joy shining in her eyes.  
  
"According to Aunt May," Peter told MJ as he admired the ring on her hand, "the ring belonged to my parents. Aunt May kept it in a safe deposit box ever since..." He didn't continue the sentence, and Mary Jane didn't need to hear the end. "Anyway," Peter continued, quickly regaining his composure, "Aunt May gave me the rings when we were over last week. You had volunteered to do the dishes, and she gave me the box while you were busy. She said that the way you and I were making 'cow eyes' at each other...her words, not mine," he added when MJ started to giggle, "well, she figured I'd be needing the engagement ring soon. Is it too tight, MJ? We can have it resized if you want..."  
  
"It fits fine, Peter," MJ assured her fiancé.  
  
"I know it's not a big ring," Peter started again, his nerves catching up with him again, as he recalled the enormous rock MJ sported during her brief and unsuccessful engagement to John Jameson.  
  
Mary Jane stifled a laugh as she wrapped her arms around the man she loved and silenced his fears with a sweet, lingering kiss. "Peter, it's perfect," MJ promised, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, as Peter's eyes began to moisten. "I will never want another ring except this one. Or another husband except you."  
  
Peter stared longingly into MJ's eyes, afraid to believe this miracle, that after all the pining, all the fears that his life as Spider-Man would forever keep them apart, that he had found his angel, and she had said 'yes'. No words, no gestures, nothing Peter could imagine seemed adequate to fully encompass the welling emotions that threatened to overwhelm him as he stared into her deep green eyes. So he said to her the only words that he felt could come close; "I love you, Mary Jane."  
  
"And I love you, Peter Parker," MJ spoke solemnly, her words a vow. "I will love you forever."  
  
The two young lovers sat contentedly on the sofa, at first simply happy to hold each other, to exchange the occasional loving kiss and caress. As the minutes ticked by, their kisses lengthened, their touches lingered and their desires mounted. Peter was all too aware of the effect this close proximity to MJ was having to him, how deeply he wanted her. But for a fleeting instant, his old insecurities emerged. He again became that scrawny, bespectacled science geek who constantly missed the bus and never dared to even look MJ in the face when passing her in the hallway. Nerves fought lust within Peter's psyche, and for the moment nerves seemed to have the upper hand.  
  
MJ noted the shift in Peter's body, the sudden tenseness in his muscles. "Peter," she questioned, "are you okay?"  
  
Peter swallowed down the sudden lump that had formed in his throat as he turned his eyes toward MJ's face. There was a change in her expression; her eyes seemed a little darker green, and her mouth curved into a lopsided half-smile. There seemed to Peter to be something...hungry about her.  
  
"Uh, oh, yeah, I'm fine," Peter stammered nervously, not fooling MJ for a second. "Uh, I just remembered, do you have work tomorrow?"  
  
"I have an eleven-to-five shift," MJ answered, her eyebrow arched in suspicion. "Why?"  
  
"Well," Peter started slowly, hoping not to embarrass himself on the off-chance that he was misreading the signals she seemed to be giving him. "It just occurred to me that it's getting late." Glancing at a nearby wall-clock, Peter added, "Yeah, eleven o'clock. And you know how hard it is to get a cab this late at night. I could take you home, if you don't mind the ol' Web-Swinging Express."  
  
Mary Jane scowled slightly as she measured Peter's words. For a science student, she realized, sometimes he could be pretty dense. She lifted her body away from Peter, and before he could protest her absence she turned her body toward him and straddled his legs, one knee on either side of him. Smiling wickedly, she brought her hands behind Peter's head and started to run her fingers through his soft brown hair. "Actually, Peter," MJ said softly, "I had another idea in mind. I want to spend the night here. That is, if you want me to."  
  
The words hovered in Peter's mind before their implication sunk in. Peter shuddered as MJ's fingers stroked his cheek, his pulse pounding audibly in his ears as all sensation seemed concentrated on his face and where her hand made contact with his cheek. _Okay, so I didn't misread the signals. Now what?_ "MJ," Peter spoke as sincerely as he could, "I didn't ask you to marry me for the sole purpose of getting you into bed."  
  
MJ smirked sweetly, her hand straying over Peter's cheek, her thumb gently stroking the corner of his mouth. "I know, Tiger," her voice carried overtones of a growl. "But I would like to stay with you tonight. If you want me."  
  
Peter's heart continued to hammer in his chest and his breath grew more ragged; there was no doubt that MJ knew the effect that she had on him. And the seductive knowing smile that graced her lips confirmed that she knew. "Mary Jane," Peter admitted, "I want you to, with everything that implies. Don't get me wrong, I definitely want you. I'm just—" _Please, MJ, don't make me say it..._ "I'm nervous, that's all."  
  
"Is that all?" MJ smiled sweetly. "Trust me, I'm as scared of my feelings as you are. But that doesn't change the fact that I want this, Peter. I want you. I've never been more certain of anything in my life than I am about us."  
  
"Believe me, MJ," Peter replied, bringing his own hand up to touch MJ's face. He smiled shyly as MJ instinctively leaned into his hand. "Nothing would make me happier than to be with you, to make love to you and with you. It's just that, well, I don't know how well I'd—" He was beginning to babble, a nervous habit that occasionally came back to haunt him. And MJ was giving him a gimlet stare, expecting an answer. Sagging his shoulders in defeat, Peter spoke; "I have never done anything like this before."  
  
MJ regarded Peter in mild amusement, as comprehension dawned on her. "So you're saying that you're a..." she started gently, letting the last word hang intentionally.  
  
Peter nodded sadly, blushing a furious crimson. "Even if I didn't have the social life of a Benedictine monk during my high school years," Peter admitted, "I always knew that I would want to wait until I was with The One. Of course, since that's officially you, that's not an issue. I guess I'm just nervous about actually, uh, doing it. Am I a complete wimp or what?" His head lowered as he tried not to make eye-contact with MJ.  
  
"Peter," MJ took her beloved's chin in her hand and moved his face to hers. "Peter, look at me. There is no shame in not having had sex before. Believe it or not, you're not the only virgin in New York City. In fact, you're not the only virgin in this room." MJ took a look into Peter's eyes, waiting for him to realize what she had said.  
  
His eyes widened when her words registered. "MJ," he asked in shocked disbelief. "MJ, you're a ...?"  
  
MJ leaned back and scowled at Peter in mock-severity. "You don't have to look so surprised," she growled, causing Peter to back away from her a little, until he saw the laughter sparkling in her eyes.  
  
"No, no," Peter answered quickly, "I'm not surprised. No, it's just that, well..." He considered his next words carefully; the last thing he wanted was a slap in the face. "Well, I remember gym class in high school, and how in the showers Flash Thompson would constantly brag with his buddies about his latest conquests. And I think he mentioned your name at least once."  
  
MJ rolled her eyes in distaste. "Which makes him both a pig and a liar," she groused. "Flash tried to maul me once, on prom night. I pulled a can of pepper-spray out of my purse and he backed off. Then we broke up at graduation." Peter nodded understandingly. "After him there was Harry," MJ continued. "Nice guy, except for the father issues. We tried a couple of times but it never seemed right. That, and that little Thanksgiving confrontation with his father, pretty much crashed that relationship. And finally, John Jameson, who prided himself on being a gentleman; he suggested that we wait until the honeymoon. So there you have it; my entire sexual history before tonight, or lack thereof. I could never just give myself to any guy unless I knew he was the right one. And now I know."  
  
Peter regarded Mary Jane with awe, and no small desire, as she offered herself to him, body and soul; she trusted him completely and wanted to give herself to him completely. As completely as he wanted to give himself to her. "MJ, I am honored," he whispered. "I just hope that you're not disappointed. So if you want to back out now, I'll understand perfectly." He felt that he owed her every chance to back out if she didn't feel comfortable about losing her virginity to him.  
  
MJ simply smiled, radiating pure joy, love and longing in palpable waves, before pulling Peter back into her embrace, her lips seeking out his, her hands tracing his shoulders before stroking the muscles that defined his lower back. "Don't worry about it, Peter," she declared, "we'll figure it out together. You are the only man I'll ever love. I want to make love to you, to be with you forever." She tilted her head slightly, facing Peter, seeing hunger and desire darkening his eyes, and feeling overjoyed that his desire matched her own. "And I want forever," she whispered intently, "to start right now." She gave him an open-mouthed kiss, hot and passionate, that dispelled any lingering doubts from Peter's heart.  
  
Peter let himself simply enjoy the kiss, to revel in the floral scent of her shampoo, the tastes and textures of her skin against his mouth. His hands began to tenderly explore her body through the fabric of her top, lightly touching her back, tracing slow lazy arcs along her sides and lightly approaching the sides of her breasts. He stopped at that point as Mary Jane's body arched slightly and her lips broke away from his. His eyes met hers, wordlessly seeking her permission.  
  
Regarding her lover with a feral gleam of desire in her eyes, MJ brought her hands to the lower hem of her sweater, lifted the garment slowly over her head and tossed it to the floor. Peter smiled wolfishly at the sight of MJ in a lacy black halter top. "You like what you see, Tiger?" she grinned seductively.  
  
With a low growl of pure lust, Peter scooped his right arm under Mary Jane's thighs, and started to stand up suddenly as the surprised redhead latched her arms around Peter's neck. She smiled in relief as he easily supported her weight with his arm, her knees tucked into crook of his elbow in an almost foetal position, as Peter carried her toward the bedroom. As Peter opened the door to the bedroom with his free hand, Mary Jane's delighted laughter rang musically in his ears.  
  
"What is it, MJ?" Peter asked as she clung more tightly to his chest.  
  
"When I was a little girl," Mary Jane whispered sweetly in Peter's ear, "I always dreamed of being carried off by my true love. But with one hand? That's class!"  
  
"I aim to please," Peter quipped as he carried Mary Jane into his bedroom. Once they had crossed the threshold, he reached to turn on the light, only to have Mary Jane reach out his hand to stop him. His face turned serious as he looked again into Mary Jane's eyes. "Well," he asked with a slight crack in his voice as he stood at the foot of his bed. "Here we are. Now what?"  
  
Mary Jane touched Peter's face with her right hand, amazed that this person who could bench press an SUV, traverse the width and breadth of Manhattan Island in seconds, and dodge bullets with the grace of a ballet dancer, could still be painfully shy around her. She guided his face to hers, eyes meeting eyes in a tender gaze. "Make love to me, Peter," she pleaded in a longing whisper, her eyes gleaming in the darkness of his bedroom.  
  
It was a request that Peter had every intention of granting. Slowly, reverently, Peter lowered Mary Jane onto the mattress, his heart skipping a beat as he beheld her beauty. She lay on the bed with her arms spread over her head, her hair falling gently over her shoulders and across the pillows, her body resting languidly over the bedspread in a posture of invitation. Peter quickly pulled his t-shirt off, nearly getting it stuck over his head before he successfully removed it and tossed it aside. Mary Jane smiled approvingly, her eyes widening at his tight, sculpted body. "Nice six-pack, Tiger," she growled approvingly, holding out her arms. "C'mere."  
  
Peter reached the bed and slowly made his way over the mattress, until his body was directly over Mary Jane's. MJ wrapped her arms around his chest, as he took hold of her slender waist, and they began kissing in earnest. Few words were exchanged, nor were they needed, as their bodies communicated their needs and desires on a primal level. Clothes were discarded as fingers and mouths explored new territories, and two souls who had been separated for far too long finally bonded in the most ancient of celebrations.  
  
Over an hour later, two naked lovers clung to each other, their strength spent but their desires sated for the time being. "You were right about one thing, MJ," Peter exhaled slowly, "I definitely hit the jackpot."  
  
Mary Jane stroked Peter's chest with her hands, and stretched her body catlike against Peter's, sending fresh shivers of pleasure down his spine. "Gotta say, Tiger," she purred contentedly, "that wasn't bad for a beginner."  
  
"I could say the same to you, Mrs. Parker-to-be," Peter regarded MJ with a lopsided grin.  
  
"Mary Jane Parker," she pronounced the name slowly, as though she were tasting the words, while she glanced at the ring on her left hand. "I like the sound of that." She yawned quietly, stretching her arms out, as Peter himself realized for the first time that he was drifting into sleep. Slowly, he reached down beside the bed, retrieved the blanket that had fallen to the floor, and carefully placed it over their bodies as MJ relaxed in Peter's embrace.  
  
As Mary Jane snuggled in Peter's arms and began to drift into sleep, a distant sound of a police siren blared faintly in the background. Mary Jane and Peter both cocked their heads up slightly at the sound. MJ then looked at Peter, her eyes asking the obvious question.  
  
Peter hugged MJ tighter to his body, and kissed the top of her head, nuzzling his nose into her hair. "Not tonight," Peter assured her as they settled in for the night's rest, "The NYPD can be trusted to look after New York City, at least one night." Peter could feel warm tears spilling from MJ's eyes and onto his chest. "Don't worry," he assured her. "I'm not going to die on you anytime soon."  
  
"It's not that, Peter," MJ breathed. "It's just that, for the first time in my life, I'm truly happy. And I don't care if it ends tomorrow, I'll never forget tonight. I love you, Peter." She craned her neck forward, capturing Peter's lips in a goodnight kiss.  
  
"I love you, MJ," Peter answered with all the conviction he ever felt in his life. "Goodnight, babe."  
  
"G'night, Tiger," she answered drowsily as she finally started to drift into sleep. Peter stayed awake for a few more minutes, simply marveling at the glorious sight of his girlfriend, his fiance, laying naked and happy in his arms. He felt vindication for his life, an absolute clarity in his mind and heart that he was where he needed to be. It didn't just feel good, it felt right. This was how it was supposed to be. He felt that in his gut, in his heart and in his head.  
  
It was right, he knew that, but he was still amazed. This was Mary Jane. The girl he had loved for as long as he could remember. In high school, all she had to do was pass him in a hallway and smile in his direction, or wave at him in the cafeteria, for him to feel that all was right in his life, even with the Flash Thompsons of the world beating him down. She was his ideal. She was his angel. And she was here with him tonight. They had just made love.  
  
She loved him. As much as he loved her, if such a thing were possible.  
  
And not all that long ago, he had refused to give her more than his friendship, in a misguided effort to protect her. "It's all I have to give," he said at the time, and the words rang false even then. He walked away as she cried, without so much as a backwards glance. A mistake he had no intention of ever repeating. She had given him her heart as a gift; she had trusted herself to his keeping. And he vowed silently to whatever Supreme Being was out there that he would prove worthy of that trust. He knew now that he had so much more to give her. And he would give everything he had from that night forward.  
  
With great power, the words of his uncle came unbidden to his mind, there must also come great responsibility.  
  
"You are my responsibility, Mary Jane," Peter whispered to the sleeping form of his lover, just before sleep claimed him. "And I will never let you go again."  
  
And for the first time since he was bitten by a genetically engineered 'super-spider', Peter Parker slept soundly and without nightmares.  
  


======== 

  
  
The proving ground was located in a sub-basement at Oscorp Industries, and was approximately half the cubic area of Shea Stadium. The high ceilings and wide space gave him enough room to test the equipment he had discovered six months ago.  
  
Harry Osborn had only noticed that during that period he hadn't touched a drop of liquor, or anything stronger than black coffee. The sheer shock of discovering that his father was the monster called the Green Goblin, so soon after the discovery that Spider-Man, his father's killer, was also Harry's best friend, did much to keep his mind off of alcohol. He had spent every free moment of the last six months examining and dissecting his late father's technology, the inventions he kept from his military contracts, the expenses that didn't find their way onto Oscorp budget reports. Harry was stunned at how much his father had embezzled from Oscorp in order to finance his criminal identity. His weapons, his pumpkin grenades and blaster devices incorporated into the glider, were highly sophisticated and devastating in their destructive capacity.  
  
Three hours ago, he had finally screwed on enough courage to test his father's Goblin Glider. And the rush, the sheer adrenaline charge he experienced when he mounted the device and flew it through the recycled air of the proving ground was beyond any so-called 'extreme sport' anyone had ever devised.  
  
For such a sophisticated piece of machinery, it was amazingly simple in design. So easy to steer, simply by the weight placement and attitude of the operator, like a skateboard or skis. He found that, within the enclosed space of the proving ground, he could reach a top speed of over a hundred miles an hour. Outside in the open air, he knew that the glider would easily reach twice that.  
  
"So, my son," the familiar spectral voice taunted him as he brought the glider in for a safe landing and removed his motorcycle helmet. "Enjoying my toys? My arsenal?"  
  
"Go away, father," he growled angrily.  
  
The specter did not comply. "How can I go away, foolish child, so long as you refuse to avenge me?"  
  
"Monsters don't get avenged, dad," Harry argued with little conviction. "They get forgotten, or turned into myths. But finally they get destroyed."  
  
"How dare you--" Norman shouted, only to be cut off by his enraged son. "No, father, how dare you? How dare you hold the woman I loved over the edge of the Queensborough Bridge? How dare you threaten innocents simply to torment my best friend?"  
  
"He was my enemy!" Norman's ghost ranted. "Which makes him your enemy!"  
  
"Yes! Spider-Man is the enemy!" Harry declared darkly. "Not MJ! And certainly not a frail old woman! Attacking May Parker, what in God's name were you thinking?"  
  
"They are the heart of the Spider," Norman growled. "Cut them out and the body will die!"  
  
"You were an insane man in life, Father," Harry groaned angrily. "You looted Oscorp for your own private arsenal. You sought revenge against your board members for trying to keep the company solvent." Harry punched some buttons on a keypad by the proving ground's airlock, triggering a pre- programmed code that sent the glider's autopilot into action, guiding the glider into a storage hanger near the side wall. Three other gliders were neatly arranged on that wall, along with other artifacts of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, carefully inventoried down to the last spare bolt. "The existence of those gliders," Harry continued, "only underlines your insanity. Do you know how much Oscorp would have made had you marketed those gliders for the public market? You could have cleaned up, those gliders would have been Oscorp's ticket out of bankruptcy. But no, hunting down Spider-Man was the only thing that mattered, was it?" He would have been accused of hining down Harry then triggered the airlock to activate, walking away from the ghost of his father.  
  
"I am not you, Father," Harry shouted into the dark of the sub-basement corridor, making his way to the elevator, to take him to his penthouse suite. "I will succeed where you have failed. I will not use innocents as shields. I will not endanger people whom I love. I will bring Oscorp from the brink of bankruptcy and keep it in the black for good." Turning around for a second to see if the ghost had followed him. "And I will kill Spider- Man. Of that you may rest assured."  
  
Within a five-mile radius of Oscorp Industries, every dog in the area whined and barked angrily, as though some vast super-sonic signal was unleashed, an unearthly laugh that only the dogs and cats of Manhattan would know.  
  
If a human could hear that sound, he or she would claim that it sounded just like a goblin's cackle.  
  


======== 

  
  
AN: And so we come to the end of my first Spider-Man story. I do have plans to continue this story-arc though. Coming soon (hopefully): The Goblin Wars. Harry is out for revenge, but will he be forced to use his father's identity to confront Spider-Man? What has changed John Jameson during his latest mission into space? Will Curt Connors' experiments prove to be man's salvation or his own undoing? And how will these events affect Peter and Mary Jane's efforts to live happily ever after?  
  
Ah, that would be telling...  
  
And thanks again for the feedback. It definitely keeps me going. Jeremy, you make a good point about ol' JJJ. In the comic he has done things that countered his nasty image. I point to an issue of the X-Men where he refused to publish anti-mutant editorials even when Bastion threatened his life. However, I didn't quite see that kind of newsman in the movies. He is definitely played on film as a comic foil, and a minor villain. Haven't decided what to do with him in the Goblin Wars, but he should show his crew- cut head soon. Oh, and don't worry, I haven't abandoned Defenders of the Night. I have plans...oh yes, I have plans. And hopefully we'll see more of 'Deathless' in the near future.  
  
Cya, Kirayoshi. 


End file.
